In Good Company
by Duruska
Summary: A Humanstuck Ancestors fic involving backstories, awkward romance, Hippies in thai fishing pants, Lawyers with nice butts, trust issues and baked goods. Human names will be used.
1. Welcome to Betty Crocker

**[AN: **As I said, human names will be used. I'll post them as they become relevant.

Psiioniic: Peter James-Fan

Signless: Duncan McGuire

Disciple: Catrina Turner

Dolorosa: Mary Sharma**]**

"_Welcome to __**Betty Crocker Corporations**__!_

_Here at BC, we don't like to think of our employees as robots grinding away in the factory, we like to think of them as our children._

_Within our unconfined walls one can find endless opportunities to grow with us as a company._

_We don't just sell pre-packaged baked goods. We sell __**love**__."_

As if the logo, motto and general atmosphere of the Betty Crocker Company was not obscenely charming, the email Peter received that morning was downright adorable. Unfortunately, it's seemingly welcoming messages only made the knot in his stomach tighter. The fact of the matter was that he didn't want this job. He didn't want to be part of this eerily friendly company. Not the very company he had been fighting to shut down.

He shouldn't complain. Out of the four of them, he probably had it the best. He and his two other friends were roommates in college. The fourth? Well, she was sort of like a mother to them all. Mostly Duncan though, considering she raised him as a baby. That was only the beginning of Mary's kindness though. You don't meet many single women willing to adopt a ginger baby with a scream like a wounded puma in them. She did though, without a second thought, that was just who she was.

Perhaps it was because Duncan was charismatic from birth. He had a way with words and people. He was intuitive and in touch with the emotions of everyone around him, but he never let it get him down. He was always talking about his new plans and ideas, constantly making up new theories and movements and never ceasing to be the loudest inspiration on campus. Peter supposed hippy was the best way of describing him, and it fitted him to a T. He was a scruffy, young man. With a mess of ginger locks and the beginnings of a beard framing his face, he walked about acknowledging every nameless face about the school and making them feel like a human again. He was so enthusiastic when he talked about his ideas; it made Peter wonder how anyone could walk away from him. The day Peter stopped and listened to him was the day his life changed forever, and he could do nothing but roll with it.

Actually, when he thought about it, the way he felt now was strikingly similar to how he felt on his first day of college. He was never the type for friends; at least that's what his parents said. "There's nothing wrong with being a bit…awkward. It's a phase! You'll grow out of it! Study is what's important." So study he did. He studied and worked hard and began to dabble more into the art of taking apart his computer and putting it back together…better. His Father saw it as a marketable skill and so it was off to college to study I.T for him. He spent his first week trying to avoid other people as much as possible, a remarkable feat for a boy in a student population of over one thousand. After class he would scurry to the library, at lunch he would scurry to the library and on the Friday of his second week, he couldn't scurry past Duncan. In fact, he practically crashed right into him. His mind was in another place and Duncan was too busy talking the ear off a less than eager senior. The senior, happy for the distraction, made his way back into the crowd and Duncan wouldn't let Peter leave without berating him, buying him a muffin and asking how his first week was. Somehow from then on, they were inseparable. Until now.

While Duncan was known for his "peaceful protests", his girlfriend tended to take the more aggressive approach, especially when it came to animals. The girl was never without cats, whether it be a keychain, shirt or the actual animal curled up in her arms. Catrina was mellow most of the time, especially around Duncan, but when she saw or heard an animal's rights being abused a dangerous temper flared up within her. Peter supposed feisty was the word for her. Unfortunately, their protests had been too feisty, they fought with the wrong people and they lost. Through no fault of their lawyer, Constance, who was nothing if not dedicated to Justice. Perhaps borderline obsessed with it. The judge did not share her keen sense nor did he share her sympathy, he had Duncan pegged as a miscreant and almost seemed gleeful as he sentenced him to five years in prison. His track record wasn't exactly clean, trying to preach to the judge only added to his misfortune. The stunningly articulated insults were not helping either.

With Duncan gone, the group was destined to disband. Through no fault of their own, they were just so much more passive than him. So willing to take what life threw at them. They were not without punishment, naturally. Catrina got off a little easier than the others, Duncan seemed to believe it had something to do with the security guard on duty, he mentioned that was "leering" at Catrina the whole time. Peter hadn't noticed. So, she was under house arrest, where she stewed alone with her cats, pining for what Peter could only assume was her lover. Though they never made it clear. Mary and he were requested to "make it up" to the company. This required at least one hundred hours of unpaid work for the company and the assurance that the media would know that Betty Crocker is their brand. Somehow, Mary was weaseled out of this by a very curious reporter. The rival's lawyer seemed to have a lot to say about this. His mutterings were garnished with a rich vocabulary of swear words.

Having relived the past for long enough, he snaps his laptop shut and looks up and around him. Not in possession of a car, Peter was forced to catch several buses to his new, unpaid job. The intense joy was obvious on his face, His eyes looked dull and unenthusiastic and his mouth was pulled in a tight frown, hiding his somewhat ridiculous teeth. He hated the things, nobody took anyone with a lisp seriously, and it was a fact of life. Everyone at that damn place was probably going to laugh at him, but he had to get it over with. Duncan would murder him if he ended up in jail with him, and then he'd just be in jail longer, and then Catrina would murder him again.

The bus rolls to a stop and he can see the bright red spoon logo, far in the distance. He trudges to the front of the bus, becoming aware that there is nobody else occupying the seats. He looks about before turning to the bus driver, nervous about speaking to a stranger. "Uh…doesth this busth thtop at the Betty Crocker company?" he manages to choke out. The bus driver turns and stares, seeming as though he's absorbing the words. "This is the last stop." He says, offering no help beyond that and opening the doors. Peter gets off without a word. He steps onto the pavement and looks up the long, hill garnished road ahead of him.

It reminds him of something Duncan used to say. "It might be hard to walk up a hill, but it's a fuck load easier than walking around it." With that thought in mind, he starts walking.


	2. Fresh as Fuck

Peter comes to two conclusions as he finally reaches the gates of the company. One is that black trousers are not what he would call the ideal outfit for a long walk (so Itchy.) The second is the realisation that he's never worked in a large company before. Up until now he'd been living off free-lance computer repairs and a part time job. Under Duncan's wing, Peter had learnt how to live under his means. As a bona fide Hippy, he kept things simple and didn't pander into things he imagined "The Man" might be trying to sell him. He certainly wasn't interested in pre-packaged baked goods, everything was "fresh as fuck" for him.

The sudden wave of memories left Peter dazed in the spot. He felt the slightest pang in his heart as his mind drifted to Duncan. It was so terribly hard to be strong without him, he felt himself reverting back to the way he was before college. Though he was fairly certain that if he tried to stay holed up in his room Betty Crocker herself would drag him out kicking and screaming. He needed to emanate that charismatic strength that Duncan did. Instead of shying away from the imposing gates, he puffs up his chest and walks up to them. Slowly, he begins to realise that this company is neither bus nor walking friendly. The stretch of land in front of him is filled from head to toe with shiny sports cars of all colours.

How do you get in? A curious person may well ask. Peter, being both curious and clever, is quick to realise there's some sort of barcode scanner, for the convenience of those with a name badge and a personal barcode. Peter has neither of these. Peter is fucked. He leans in to inspect the box, finding the help button tucked away in the most obscure place possible. He figures security doesn't like to be bothered with such trivial matters as a trapped employee.

He presses down on the button and is greeted with the sound of a ringing phone before it becomes static filled white noise as the guard picks up. "If you have forgotten your staff card I will have to report you." That voice is distinctly familiar; it's soft but by no means calming. Actually chilling might be a better word. Of course it had to be this guy; they've definitely met before, and by the worst possible circumstances. Maybe it's part of the job to look sort of terrifying; if it is then this guy should get a promotion. The voice chimes in again, breaking his thoughts. "Sir?" The formality makes Peter uncomfortable and his voice gets caught in his throat as he goes to answer. Suddenly he becomes aware that he's parched from the walk and all he manages to do is rasp. "I can see you in the camera, sir." The voice chips in again. "If you do not work here, I will have to ask you to leave the premises. Or, if it suits you, I can escort you…."

Thankfully, Peter finds his voice again before the guard can expand on that thought. "N-no!" He cringes at the stutter. "I work here, I'm new here, I don't have a thtaff card (or a car) I can't get in." There's a pause on the other line before the guard speaks up again "Generally they hand those out during inductions." Peter becomes irritated, he raises his voice as he retorts. "I'm not a normal employee. Didn't anyone tell you I wasth coming?" He was hoping he wouldn't have to clarify the fact that he's here for the worst reasons. There's a long pause on the other end before the voice takes a tone with more bite to it. "I will have to come and let you in, the gate is locked." He says that as if it's Peter's fault. Peter hesitates before mumbling a thanks, but the guard has already left his station.

The idea of Peter loitering about must have bothered the man, because he's already visible among the coloured sea of cars. Peter feels himself tense again as guard becomes less obscured and more familiar with every tap of his foot. His hands fidget at his sides as he searches for something to preoccupy them with, he wants to tuck them in his pockets but the little voice in his head tells him he'll look like a miscreant of sorts. With a sharp nod in Peter's direction, the gate opens at a painfully slow pace. The guard, seeming immune to the awkwardness that filled the air, stared openly at Peter as he waited. The sunlight glinted off his sunglasses and his silver name tag, emblazoned with the name "". Peter wasn't usually one for irony, but the name was coincidentally suitable for him. Almost dwarfed by the man's height and muscular build, Peter slinks past the gate once it's open, trying to smile agreeably at the other, unsure if he recognises him or not. If he does, he doesn't even try to express it. His face remains impassive as he ignores Peter in favour of watching the gate as it trundles open. It becomes increasingly obvious that the gate does not stop once the person is let in, and if the fact that Hunter has remained still is any indication, he is required to wait until the gate opens and closes again before he moves.

Unsure of whether he's allowed to leave without Hunter and unsure where the entrance is, he waits in awkward bliss as the other stares straight ahead. Finally, the gate clicks shut, the sound echoing in the silence of the carpark. Hunter, wordless as ever, turns with a flick of his thick, black hair which had been swept up in a ponytail. He seems to understand that Peter is lost without him having to say anything and he's almost marching as he leads the lost boy to the centre of the hive. With another swish, he's turning on his heel and walking in the other direction. Peter isn't sure if he should feel touched by the silent help or snubbed in some manner. His trail of thought is interrupted by a call for attention at the front desk and he shrugs it off.

His job is fairly simple, he's the office bitch. He makes copies and collects printed off material. He is the master of the stapler and he wields it with his last few shreds of dignity. His most important task is the delivery of coffee to the legal department. He was warned in his brief induction, without caffeine lawyers are snarky and cruel. It is his important duty to constantly keep the cups on their desk full, so that the rest of the employees won't face their wrath. He knows Duncan would sneer at the mice trapped in their little cubes, but Peter felt a strange sense of comfort in the conformity. All the coupled cubes and matching lines put him at ease. While he wasn't sure how much he would enjoy being a drone in an office, the idea of being in front of a computer in his neat little cubicle didn't seem unappealing at all. Much to Duncan's dismay, that is.

Once the caffeine related needs of the fifth floor had been sated, he was able to take his trolley elsewhere. He leans on it lazily as he glances about the elevator. The elevator itself is made primarily of reflective surfaces; Peter can see himself no matter where his eyes travel. His mind travels elsewhere and he begins to wonder if any of the employees have gotten it on in here, against the reflective surfaces.

Before his mind can expand on that, the elevator pings him back to the real world. He stops using his coffee trolley as a neat little resting stand and begins to use it for its intended purpose once more. The coffee rounds on this floor go much faster, there are fewer offices and the people who inhabit them are too busy to acknowledge him. The last offices on the floor are the most impressive; the front walls are built from a mosaic glass, making the inhabitants seem like fish in an aquarium. Unlike the cubicles or the medium sized offices, these rooms feel open and spacious thanks to the light pouring in from more than one source.

Almost done with his first coffee round for the day, he peers into the last office, trying to see through the mosaic. The figure inside is a blur of black and purple and his voice can be head from outside the office. He's clearly irritated. Irritated and busy. Should he skip him and come back later? He doesn't fancy being yelled at by some asshole on his first day. Then again, maybe he just needed a coffee? Was that why he was angry? Deciding being yelled at is probably not the worst thing that has or will happen today, he knocks on the door before pushing it open. A dark haired man with a scowl on his face sits across the room at his desk, phone in hand. The scowl isn't the only noticeable thing on his face, across the top of his nose there is a long scar that extends beyond his eyebrow. An inch under it, there's a shorter scar, almost like the shadow of the other one. The phone seems to be the source of his current misery, until he slams it down. Peter takes the opportunity to speak up, before the other can tell him to get out.

"Thir? Would you like some coffee?"


	3. Killer Whales

[AN: AH. I forgot to add in the last notes that Darkleer's human name will be Edmund Hunter.

Your name for this chapter is Murdoc Donoghue, also known as Orphaner Dualscar.]

"Thir, did you want some coffee?"

Peter fidgets in the doorway, suddenly realising that hightailing it would have been the safer option. He can see that the man behind desk seems to be sizing him up before the recognition appears on his face, and Peter's stomach drops and he tenses. No wonder he has such a nice office; he was the lawyer who had fought to get Duncan put in prison. Against their lawyer, who was practically lady liberty herself, he had been brutal. He spoke as if the crimes committed were not simply made against the company, but to Miss Crocker herself.

The other man grunts in response, leaning back into his chair with a look of discontent. "What I want is a computer, that actually FUCKIN' works!" He exclaims, clicking the mouse furiously as if that might help. Peter isn't really sure what to say to that, though he's resisting the urge to tell him that clicking the mouse doesn't magically fix everything. "An' of course every single person in the damn I.T department is "busy", they're always busy. Always!" He throws his hands up in the air before sinking further into his seat. "Not that you'd know that. You're new, aren't you? Let me give you a hint before you fuck up, never trust those moles down there in the I.T department. They don't even know what RAM is. Stupid fuckers..."

Swallowing both his pride and his underlying resentment from the day at court, Peter steps forward, neglecting his coffee tray near the door. He couldn't help but be curious as to what could be causing the man, or rather, the computer, such grief.

"Thir..?" He starts, his eyes wandering to the name plate on his desk, the name "M. DONOGHUE" engraved in plain, capitals. Donoghue raises a single eyebrow at Peter's abandonment of his coffee duties.

"Yes..?" He asks, the singular word seeming so bland compared to his previous ramblings that were embellished with a thick accent and curses.

"I might be able to help; I'm pretty good with computerth." He shrugs lightly and rubs the back of his neck, taking another step closer. Donoghue looks sceptical at first and then he shrugs and rolls his chair back to give Peter room to look.

"You can't fuck it up more than it already is, I suppose." His voice sounds relaxed, but the expression on his face is obviously suspicious.

Peter nips in front of his computer, a frown appearing on his face as he sees it. The infamous blue screen of death had struck again, and Peter can't help but wonder what the other man could have done to screw it up so badly. He strikes some keys before ducking under the desk to unplug it from the power source, only to plug it in again. The awkward silence is overwhelming as Donoghue just watches him silently, and Peter can feel the judgement radiating from him as the computer slowly switches back to life. He wishes it would hurry up so he can start fixing this brick with a keyboard and mouse so the man can stop staring at him.

He pats the computer, knowing it won't help it hurry up. This thing must be on its way to imminent death, it was so old. As the screen lights up, he wonders how the other even had it running today. Peter stares down at the screen before glancing over his shoulder at the man behind him. Donoghue returns Peter's look with a raised eyebrow before realising. He rolls the chair forward, bumping Peter out of the way to start typing. Everything in this company is under lock and key - the computers require an eight digit login and an even longer password. Or perhaps the man was just so paranoid that he felt such a long password was necessary, anything was plausible.

Suddenly, a killer whale filled the screen as his desktop icons began to load over a picture of an orca poking its head out of the sea jovially. Most of the screens Peter had seen today had been adorned with beautiful, scantily clad women or pictures of family members, or pets, and so the whale came as something of a surprise. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter can see Donoghue's haughty expression go blank. He stares at the whale as if he had forgotten it was his background, and then he wheels back again and picks up a loose piece of paper as if it's something terribly important that he must read. A little amused but even more confused, Peter turns back to the screen.

Donoghue watches him over the top of the paper, but what Peter is doing is a mystery to him. He watches as he taps the keyboard with a trained speed, pulling open windows full of words and numbers that the lawyer never cared to discover the meaning of. Peter works fast; he's already found a virus and he's already working on changing the computers security settings. With a final click of the mouse in his hand, he pulls away and turns to Donoghue, who is making a show of not being interested in what the other is doing.

In turn, Peter makes a show of rolling his eyes at the other before speaking up. "Thir..?"

Donoghue's head jerks up immediately, clearly surprised at his attention being pulled away from the important piece of paper. "Hmm? Ah! Done already?" He looks up at Peter curiously. "Clearly you don't work for I.T." He rolls himself forward, not seeing Peter cringe at his terrible joke as he leans forward to poke about on his computer.

"Microsoft Office generally thaveth any files you had open before it crathed, provided they had been saved at some point. It lookth like you haven't lotht anything this time. You thould probably thtart thaving thtuff more often if you.." Peter pauses as Donoghue looks up at him. Is he really about to school this guy on computers? Granted, he was stupid enough to get all of those viruses and not adept enough to rid the computer of them, but…okay. Yes, he needed to be schooled. "You need to thart thaving thtuff more often incase thomething really goeth wrong. Ethpecially if the I.T Department is ath bad ath you keep thaying it ith."

Donoghue lowers his eyelids, revealing that the scars do continue on over them. He blinks slowly, as though he's slowly absorbing everything Peter just said. Peter stares back, feeling like the tiniest fish being sized up by an inquisitive shark. "I have a laptop too, if you want to take a look at it." Donoghue chips in, finally breaking the silence. Peter feels an eyebrow rise at the suggestion, and he's almost interested in seeing whether his laptop background is a whale too, but he's sure that he's got other things that he's meant to be doing right now.

"As much ath I'd like to be a one man I.T department." He starts, jerking his thumb at the coffee trolley. "My other job is kind of my priority." Donoghue glances over at the coffee, looking almost too thoughtful for a man who's casually glancing at an inanimate object.

He rises from his chair, holding out his hand for a shake. "I never got your name." He leaves the statement open ended with the implication that he's curious. Peter stares at the hand and he can't even remember the last time he'd actually shook someone's hand out of formality. It seemed to be a dying practise these days.

"It'th Peter," he mumbles as he gingerly takes the hand and is given a firm shake. Peter heard a long time ago from his father that you can tell a lot about a man from his handshake, and he wondered what it meant if it was firm and official but surprisingly brief. It was obviously just a formality to the other man, even though Peter began to feel as though his own shake had left much to be desired.

"Peter. Do you have a last name, Peter?" He raises an eyebrow down at Peter, who looks away in embarrassment. Of course he was expected to give a full name, this is an office, not a school or a bar. He clears his throat, feeling that same awkwardness creep into the room again.

"Jamesth-Fan. Peter Jamesth-Fan." Peter blurts out. Donoghue commits it to memory with a small nod.

"That's a mouthful." Donoghue says, hinting once again that he's curious.

"I wath adopted, my parenth wanted me to keep my heritage or thomething." Peter explains, fidgeting and glancing about all the while until his eyes settle on the name plate. "Tho what doesth the 'M' thtand for?" Peter inquires. Donoghue throws Peter an annoyed look for the brief answer and eventual derailing of the lawyer's mini interrogation.

He speaks up, finally and answers him. "It's Murdoc." With that brief answer, he turns his back before Peter can even reply. He bends down, pulling something rectangular out from a shelf before turning to reveal that it's his laptop, even though Peter said he didn't have time to look at it. Peter looks back at his coffee trolley and then to the clock on the wall, hoping Murdoc gets the hint. If he does, he isn't showing it. He crosses the room and opens the door, beckoning for Peter. Peter cocks his head to the side, unsure if he should follow him.

"Thir…?" Peter asks hesitantly before taking a step forward.

"Forget the coffee, Fan." Murdoc retorts, grunting at the other and beckoning again. "I've a meetin' with someone who I think you should see," he adds, turning to open the door and walk out of it. It's almost as though he's left the option to follow completely up to Peter, and he hesitates in the doorway. In his mind he lists of every reason he shouldn't follow. This man is the reason a good man and best friend is behind bars, this man is no good and he shouldn't be trusted. Somewhere amongst the confusion, though, a lone thought appears. Maybe he was just doing his job. Duncan had always been a firm believer in fate, just as much as he was a firm believer in change and humanity. Perhaps there was a grand scheme in the works that neither he nor Murdoc were fully aware of, so despite the man's abrasive nature, Peter was feeling himself inclined to follow, and it wasn't long before his legs agreed with the sentiment.

Peter slips into the open elevator before the doors can close on the man inside. Murdoc stayed facing forward, but then glanced at Peter from the corner of his eye, almost as though he's wordlessly thanking him. Peter tries not to read too deeply into these sorts of things, but some signs are more obvious than others.


End file.
